
Glass _ 
Book. 



rax 

r 1 I 

CONFESSION OF A CONSUMPTIVE. 



Ug Hofcrrt -S. fcoffin. 



I will roturn unto tny father, and will I t*4 against 

. iind in thy wight, and liiii no loagei Worthy to be call 

(A"«w Te*t*me*t f 



BOSTON: 

INGRAHAM AND HKWES, PRINTER? 5 



1827. 



<s 






District of Massachusetts.... to wit: 

DISTRICT CLERK'S OFFICE. 

Be It Remembered, That on the sixth day of Jan- 
[l. s.] uary, A. D. 1827, in the fifty first year of the Indepen- 
dence of the United States of America, Robert S. Cof- 
fin, of the said District, has deposiied in this Office the title of a 
Book, the Right whereof he claims as Author, in the words fol- 
lowing, to wit: — 

"The Eleventh Hour, or, Confession of a Consumptive 

I will return unto my Father, and will say, 'Father, I have 
sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no longer 
worthy to be called thy son.'' New Testament. — By Robert S. 
Coffin.'' 

In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, 
entitled "An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by secur- 
ing the Copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors and 
Proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned:" 
and also to an Act entitled "An Act supplementary to an Act, en- 
titled An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by securing 
the Copies of Maps, Charts and Books to the Authors and Pro- 
prieiors of such Copies during the times therein mentioned; and 
extending the Benefits thereof to the Arts of Designing, Engraving 
and Etching Historical and other Prints." 

rc3 . tt T m n ( Clerk of the District 

[S,gned] Jno.W.Davis,^ of Ma J ssachusetts , / 



01 

ST. PAILS CHURCH, 

M.w Bl ftl PORT HASfl \< Bl 

I bet, leave to inscribe the pages follow- 
ing; and publicly acknowledge the gr; 
tude fell for repeated acts of kindness^ i \- 
ercised at various times, tow ard the remnant 
of my father's family, when fast sinking be- 
neath neglecjL That Providbnos may 
continue its smiles to you and yotUTS, is tiie 
prayer of your grateful debtor, 

ROBERT S. COFFIN. 

Newburyport, Ma, 
January 1, 1827. 



eontemion, $ct. 



" Tell them, I AM! — Jehovah said; 

And smitten to the heart, 
All nature, without voice or sound, 

Replied, O Lord, THOU ART!" 

It is night: I rest my feeble limbs upon a bed of 
straw; — alas! my disease will not allow me the in- 
dulgence of a softer. Ought I to utter a complaint 
against the decrees of Almighty Justice? Let me 
consider: — Had I pursued a course of temperance — 
had I lived but a strict life of even morality — had I 
not mixed with the dissolute, the riotous, and the pro- 
fane — should I at this early period of human exist- 
ence, have subjected myself to the innumerable and 
spirit-breaking pains of a disease, against whose si- 
lent ravages the power of medicine, and the influence 
of climate, have never yet been known effectually to 
contend, and prevail? My answer is, "I should not" 
It is true the hand of Heaven lies heavy upon me; 
but, alas! my sins placed its weight where it now 
sinks me in the dust, and humbles the deplorable 
pride of my heart. It was in a moment of stubborn 
self-sufficiency, rejecting all advice and control, I put 
on the poison linen, whose subtle effects, within fifteen 



6 

minutes, were felt throughout the whole vital system, 
and shook to its centre the feeble tenement of life! 
More than two years have elapsed, and yet the "gold- 
en bowl" is not broken, and the light of Heaven visits 
me still, and gladdens my eyes with the blessed view 
of the stupendous work of creation! And what ser- 
vice, even throughout the whole course of my earthly 
existence, have I rendered to Heaven, or to my fel- 
low-men, that I should have been spared thus long, 
when thousands of less criminal lives — I say criminal, 
for I will not palliate my si7is by calling them merely 
errors — have fallen victims to death, by tempest, flood 
and fire? Let me for a moment recollect, and pre- 
sent to the view, the imminent dangers from which I 
have, at various periods of time, escaped without per- 
sonal injury. In fording the river Brandy wine, my 
horse sprung from the vehicle, and, holding firmly by 
the reins, dragged me into the current with him; and 
an invalid also, my companion, who held by my coat; 
the middle of the stream ran rapidly — yet the animal 
swam with us to the opposite shore; the chaise float- 
ed some distance down the current, and stopped on a 
shoal, from whence it was recovered. The river, at 
this fording place, is not deep — but at this time had 
swollen much by recent heavy rains, of which I was 
not sufficiently aware. Alas! wretched, wretched in- 
deed would have been my exit from life, had I perish- 
ed thus in the very act and commission of sins abhor- 
rent to Almighty God: I had broken the Sabbath, 
and was inebriated by ardent spirits! Oh, that I 



could portray in "words that burn," the dreadful evils 
of intemperance; — this is the fiend that has marred 
my peace — destroyed my hopes — blighted my fame — 
and, if Providence had not checked his career, would 
have sent me down to the grave, a mass of putridity 
and sin; from which the eye even of the fiend himself 
would have turned away with fear and abhorrence! — 
Here let me correct a prevalent error among too ma- 
ny men, even of good sense and information upon 
most other subjects. The error to which I would al- 
lude is this: — " That the greatest poets cannot write 
well, until they are half intoxicated — and that it is 
indispensable they should partake deeply of the 'care- 
killing bowl,' ere the pen glides over the paper!" It 
is false — unless in cases where men have been habitu- 
ally under the influence of wine, or ardent liquors — 
then, indeed, the flagging spirits need renovation, and 
the shaking hand steadiness, which cannot be given 
instantly, but by resorting again to the eventually 
liquid death! Rising Genius of America! spurn the 
man who, a drunkard himself, would make you believe 
that fame, virtue, and almost i*eligion itself, lie hidden 
at the bottom of a wine-cup — and that in order to 
obtain them, you must destroy health and fortune, 
nay, life itself by madly swallowing the deleterious 
contents! Spurn — I repeat it — spurn such a man; 
listen not a moment to his words — fly quickly from 
his presence — the Upas of Java is not more fatal 
than his breath; — fly, or you are lost! Oh, listen to 
one, who at midnight, warns you of an enemy that 



would steal away your sense's, and in that state, de- 
stroy, if possible, your souls! Of what crime has not 
this fiend, Intemperance, been guilty? Look upon 
his frenzied eye: 

"A spark of hell lies burning there!" 
Mark his shaking hand — it trembles not now from the 
effects of the bowl—no; he has stained it with the 
life-blood of his fellow, and he will presently embrue 
it in his own! He rushes unprepared into the pre- 
sence of his God, and ; — we shudder at 

his doom, and tremble at the idea of the punishment 
strict justice may inflict! Youth of my Country! 
hearken to one, whose only object in confessing his 
own fatal sin, is to show you the dreadful precipice 
upon which the confirmed drunkard reposes, and heeds 
not the yawning, fathomless abyss which lies beneath 
him; — listen to a man, who hopes for pardon from his 
God, by humbling his once proud spirit even to his 
fellow-men, by a confession of his sins, and bearing 
with patience the "world? s dread laugh" and perhaps 
the derisive smile of his former associates, whom he 
hopes may eventually be led to reflection, and be in- 
duced to believe that religion is not a subject of minor 
importance, or the mere project of priestcraft to luxu- 
riate upon themselves, while they silently jest with the 
blindness of its followers: 

M With wits profane, in sin to range, 
Ne'er be the hand extended; 

An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange 

For DEKTY offended." [Burns. 



9 

The reason I dwell so long upon the subject of In- 
temperance is this; I conceive it to have been my 
own ruin, both in regard to property, peace of mind, and 
indirectly, of health — and I see the overthrow of my 
country's freedom in potations of ardent spirits, if some 
measure is not speedily taken to check the march of 
inebriety — for freedom cannot exist without strength-— 
and inebriety and physical strength are mortal foes — the 
first must and will effectually prostrate the latter! But 
what, in comparison, is the loss of political liberty, to 
the ultimate destruction of the soul? I have not been 
an habitual drinker of intoxicating draughts, yet I 
would not pursue the course of life which I have done, 
for the value of such a world as we inhabit. Ask you, 
why? I am free to explain: — The man who has had 
the temerity to endeavor to disbelieve in the death 
and resurrection of his Saviour, shall now have cour- 
age to confess and abjure his sin! Drinking led me into 
the company of men without principle; who, by im- 
perceptible degrees, awakened doubts, surmisiags and 

conjectures, on the Divinity of JESUS CHRIST; 

my mind was harrassed, and I was unhappy. I never 
could thoroughly disbelieve what had been so deeply 
impressed upon my mind in childhood and youth; yet, 
whenever I met with these men, frequenters of public 
houses, though by the world generally esteemed re- 
spectable, and good members of society, the glass 
circulated, and I joined in ridiculing (Oh, execrable, ex- 
ecrable sin!) the birth, sufferings and death of Him, 
whom I would not again deny to save my life, provid- 



10 

ed God gave me fortitude to endure the tortures 
which might be inflicted upon me to produce a deni- 
al — "for of myself I can do nothing" The cock has 
thrice crowed, and I have wept bitterly: — may God 
forgive me my sin. Let not any, judging from my 
past life, impute the Confession of my Faith to the 
weakness of my mind, and the approach of death: 

" Death-beds are the detectors of the heart." 

"Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my 
last end be like his;" and that I may die thus, is it 
not necessary, that those who may have imbibed my 
former principles, and are now under the same error, 
should by my public renunciation of the same, be put 
in the right path, and return to Him they have for- 
saken, and thus crucified again? I do not believe that 
a confession of sins before men, is of any importance, 
only as such confession may be of benefit to others, by 
Warning them of the shoals and rocks which ship- 
wrecked the peace and happiness of the confessor; — 
in this point of view, a candid and public acknowledg- 
ment of our transgressions, is proper, if not absolute- 
ly^ duty. If I fear the raillery of sinful men — of those 
with whom I have associated as companions in wick- 
edness, and who have no disposition to "turn from the 
evil of their ways," — if I dread their contempt and 
laughter, when my soul is at hazard, by persisting in 
my evil course, how shall I summon fortitude to stand 
in the presence of an offended God, and in view of 
assembled worlds, — aye, beneath the eye of an insult- 



11 

ed Saviot;r, hear my sins proclaimed aloud, and the 
He tei.ee of eternal justice passed upon me, to he re- 
voked no man forever! Dreadful', dreadful thought! — 
"Lord, I believe — kelpihoum / ' No; com- 

panions of my early follies, and ye who have design- 
edly led me astray, I am not of jovat numher any 
more; — you may jest with what you will call my 
weakness — but in that very weakness lies mv ri ren g th; — 
you will suppose me under the influence of priestcraft, 
and dreading its anathemas, like a man troubled with 
horrible dreams, which, when be vanMi, and 

his courage again returns; for \\> \ - that he 

has only been dreaming, at tl I ir hours 

of unhallowed mirth, I vhall he the object of your 
ridicule, if not contempt; hut, rest that it 

this brief sketch shall prove, by the [ of Hea- 

ven, the cause of redan sinner from a living 

death, and inducing him to turn 10m the path 

which lca(K to destruction, I ihall etijoj more In 

felt satisfaction, than all that wtallh, Jam* <<i . 
can bestow . 

M He that tonftsseth hil rtfU shall find men 
"Believe on the Lord Jasusf hrist, and ye shall be saved." 
" He that comet h to mt\ I will HI no out." 

M I would that all men should be sive<l." 

u There is more joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, 
than over ninety and nine just men which need no repentance.' ' 

But to return to a narrative of the dangers I have 
escaped: — I fell overboard while fishing from a Bath 
House, anchored in very rapid water, in the river 



12 

'Delaware, opposite the City of Philadelphia, and by 
the great force of the tide, was instantly swept under 
its floor, where I could scarcely breathe, the water 
being almost as high as the boards; — by great exer- 
tion I made the people above hear and understand at 
what bath I was holding; an old man, named Robins, 
jumped into the water, and cut or knocked away the 
slat next to which I held with one hand, and with the 
other was endeavoring to break away the second, so 
as to enable me to get space sufficient to come up 
under the water, or rather through the water, which 
was effected. Had Robins made a wrong blow, my 
hand would have been dissevered, and I must, in all 
human probability, have perished; but God saved me 
this time also from personal injury. At this narrow 
escape from death, the archictect, or carpenter of the 
building, who knew the intricacies of the labyrinth 
below, was utterly astonished; declaring, that al- 
though he was an expert swimmer himself, he should 
never have dared to venture such personal risk. Let 
it be recorded, that I never swam a stroke in my life. 
"Great are thy mercies, O Lord God of Israel." 

My life has been a series of "hair breadth es- 
capes:" — Once, while a prisoner of war, on board an 
English frigate, while crossing the Atlantic, I came 
very neap being precipitated from the head of the 
vessel, while she was sailing, I suppose, at the rapid 
rate often and a half miles per hour — she being the 
fastest sailer in the British navy, or, perhaps, any 
other navy in the world. No human arm would, or 



13 

could have saved me from the voracity of the shark. 
had I but touched the water; for the vessel would 
have passed directly over me! At thN time I had 
broken a commandment of Heaven, given by the pro- 
phet Moses to the whole human family, viz: I had 
gone to sea against the wishes and commands of my 
parents; and I should scarcely have had time to a-k 
forgiveness of the Ifoti IIh.h, ere I should have been 
summoned into his presence: "Surely, the 
transgressor is hard." 

COMPANIONS of my sins! — partakers mi nvj guilt' — pe- 
ruse with attention the confession of and 
turn from the evil of your A the je» 
of the world— heed not the taunts of the disbeln 
nor let your cheeks redden at the revilings of the 
wicked: "JVIuj will \\> I do not urge you to 
a melancholy worship — a reverence founded on fear 
of punishment hereafter; — this is not Dm 
flu heart." True religion is love to Goi> — u 
sorrow when we make a momentary departure I 
virtue, and an immediate desire to rtluni to cur dutij 
with double Migtnc t and / — there . ater 
pleasure than serving our Mb* IFU1 Pathbr: 

"Lhrc while you live, the Epicure will m 

And seize the fleeting pleasures of to-dav; 

Live while you live, the reverend preacher cries. 

And give to God each moment as it tl 

Lord, in my view, let both united be — 

I live to pleasure ivhen I lire to thef 

Religion is the language tjf tiu soul to its Maker: — 



14 

it is a voice pleasant to the ear of Omnipotence, and 
angels delight in its harmony; like the harp of the 
" shepherd King of Judah," it sooths the madness of 
despair, and drives the foul spirit of even murder far 
away; it has the power to tame every hateful passion, 
and its brow is adorned with a wreath of immortality; 
clouds disappear before its sunny presence, and the 
storm wings its flight afar: 

" Oh wide they wander from the path of truth, 
Who paint Religion with a brow of gloom; 
Her steps are buoyant with unfading youth, 
And she can smile o'er nature's general doom!" 

I have written much;— -fame and pleasure have not 
been withheld; — my writings have generally been of 
a tendency to benefit mankind; but, alas! how have 
I injured myself, by my follies, — acting so incon- 
sistently with that course of life which I have pointed 
out to others, as the only sure way to live in peace y 
and die in hope of obtaining the " crown of glory" re- 
served for the righteous at the last day! — How much 
too have I written of no value to the cause of religion, 
or even to that of morality — mere idle scribbling, for 
a little of the "dirty ore," lavished away almost as 
soon as obtained! Had I devoted the one talent Gor> 
has given me, to His glory alone, how different should 
I feel in this my hour of darkness and distress! To 
me, "much has been given" — of me, "much will be re- 
quired." And have I no hope? Is there no city to 
which I can fly from the avenger? No harbor, in 
which my shattered barque may seek a shelter from 



15 

the storm of wrath, which would drive her on the 
rocks of despair and destruction r Shall I sink be- 
neath the load of guilt which oppresses me? Let me 
turn my eyes to the now desolate plains of "Jew •*>- 
i. km the beloved;" what news the gathering of the 
multitude, and the noise of many horsemen! Oh, God 
of rights ! the spear hath pierced thv Bon, and 

in the agony of humanity be cries to thee, E 
lama sabachfhani ! — [St. Mark, xv. v. 34. j — }l< dii ' — 
and man, sinful man, through his death, H i /br- 

and happiness eternal! Unboundr-d 
mercy! — Love unspeakable! Oh, that my erring 
Inait should once have "rejected it salvation." 

At the foot of the cross I how in the di- 

And cling with hope to Calvary. 

Here shall I find refuge; here shall my soul anchor 
her hope; here shall my heart free itself from despair, 
and my spirit find repose. / . the un- 

known period which remains to me on earth, shall be 
spent in asserting the truth of thy mission, and in en- 
deavors to firmer fix the faith of the believer, and to 
make unbelievers wise unto salvation; for "there is no 
other name under heaven by which men cam be sen 

The sleep of sin, and error's dreams 

Were o'er, when Jesus bled. 

Angel of Mercy! speed thy flight 
To those who grope in heathen night; 
Bear on thy wings, Oh, Mercy, bear, 
The purport of the christian's prayer: 



16 

Through the wide world this truth proclaim, ^ 
tc Salvation's by Immanuel's name." 

During these latter days of my illness, I have denied 
myself to the generality of my friends, who have call- 
ed upon me; and have thus, without doubt, offended 
a few, who have, perhaps, been of sorne* little service 
to me; — but I had formed a determination to "com- 
mune with myself, and be still;" — T wished to reflect 
alone upon my past life, and satisfy myself, without 
any advice from others, of the merits of Him crucified, 
whose Divinity I almost denied; and the result is, that 
my mind is much tranquilized, for I am certain, that 
a belief in Jesus Christ, as a Mediator between GOD 
and man, is absolutely necessary to salvation; and, 
although I knock at the eleventh hour, the portal of 
mercy is still open, and a voice of fatherly love tells 
me, " there is yet room." — I wish to undo, if possible, 
whatever of wrong I have done, — by unhesitatingly 
declaring my belief in the doctrines of Christianity. 
Respecting the moral tendency of my poems, I have 
nothing to fear — but all of them are not of a religious 
nature; nor do I feel any sorrow or regret — for mor- 
ality is a step towards true religion;— he who acts 
morally from good principles, and not from respect or 
fear of his fellow-man, in my opinion, cannot be a 
distant follower of Christianity — and, that there are 
such men, is quite evident. Do not let me be misun- 
derstood; true christian religion, warm from the heart, 
is the only passport to Heaven; for this religion is the 



17 

sincere love of God, and faith in the death and resur- 
rection of Jesus, who was crucified, and now sits at 
the right hand of Deity, of Omnipotence, pleading 
mercy for sinful man; and who at the last day, will 
have full power to reward and punish, according to 
the works done in the body, good or evil. 

".The body shall return to dust; but the spirit unto 
God, who gave it." 

No. — Man ne'er dies] — Thro J flood and flame; 

Unharmed shall march the soul ; 
Its birth-right blest shall it reclaim, 

And reach its destined goal. 

I pray that Providence may bless to the edifica- 
tion of the unbeliever, this Confession of Faith, 
made by one, whose proud heart, only a few months 
since, would have revolted at an idea, which he would 
have supposed so humiliating and idle. My sufferings 
during the greater part of two years, have often been 
severe; and he who puts off repentance until racked 
with disease, and especially the pains of Pulmonary 
Consumption, will hardly feel a disposition to com- 
mence it at all; — the disorder completely unnerves 
the whole system, and makes childish the strongest 
spirit: no man can describe its various aches, weak- 
nesses and wants; at one moment it tyranically de- 
mands such and such food for its appetite — the next 
instant, it rejects with abhorrence what it so recently 
craved with all the eagerness of gluttony; — to-day, 
the heart expands with hope, and pain takes its seem- 



18 

ing departure; but, alas! with the going down of the 
beautiful sun, combined in a close phalanx, return the 
enemies of peace, and the destroyers of our hopes! — - 
Can this be esteemed the most fit time for prayer and 
praise j and saving repentance? Indeed it is not! In 
youth — in the enjoyment of health — in the height of pros- 
perity, are proper periods to devote ourselves to. God 
and to laud his name; to thank Him for the manifold 
mercies we enjoy, and impart a portion of this world's 
goods, while it is in our power, to those of our fellow- 
men, less fortunate than ourselves: "Remember thy 
Creator in the days of thy youth" "Procrastination % 
is the thief of time." 

During hours usually allotted to repose, I have writ- 
ten thus much — and my disease will not permit me to 
write more at present; but I feel satisfied that God 
will prosper my efforts to accomplish what good I yet 
have strength to do, during the remainder of my 
earthly pilgrimage; — and that my afflictions may 
prove the cause of my own future happiness, and that 
of others, into whose hands my voluntary and sincere 
Confession may fall, is my ardent prayer. 

ROBERT S. COFFIN. 

JVewburyport) Mass. 
Jan. 1, 1827. 



19 



The following is from the pen of Charles Miner, Esq. ed- 
itor of the " Village Record;" it will serve to show how poor, 
but happy I felt myself in the pursuit of fame — the phantom, 
fame! 

WHO IS HE? 

It was noon, on one of the most sultry days in Ju- 
ly, 1819, that a fair faced stranger presented himself 
at our office door, leaned against the door post half a 
minute, and then said — but it is, as yet, no matter 
what he said, or how he said it; let us in the first place 
describe him. His face was fair, and there was but a 
light down on his chin in the place of a beard; his face 
was nearly round; the features were well proportion- 
ed — rather handsome than otherwise; but there was 
little expression in his countenance more than you 
could find in a regiment, were you to examine th^rn 
as the roll is called, except that his light blue eye 
twinkled with vivacity. On his neck was no hand- 
kerchief, and his shirt collar was open, showing a 
white skin except where a little embrowned by the 
sun, air, and dust. A light grey was his outer coat, 
which had been new when a different fashion pre- 
vailed, although that assertion does not, of itself, 
prove it to have been very old. The trowsers were 
of tow, or cotton bagging — Whether stockings cover- 
ed his feet is a subject of doubt, but it is certain that 
the shoes brought by the Gibeonites to deceive Joshua 
could not have been more worn. In height the 
stranger was about five feet six inches, plump a d 
round in form, and although comely but rather effem- 
inate, on one side of his head his hat was worn in that 
sort of care-fov-nothing way, that would lead you to 



20 

ask — what independent feeling fellow is that ? " Is 
this the office of the Village Record," inquired he, in 
accents somewhat peculiar, and which shewed that he 
was from a distant neighbourhood, and few who had 
ever been in New-England would have hesitated a 
moment to guess that he was a Yankee. 

'I have had a plaguy long walk, and a foolish one 
too' — said he, 'for I set out to come here, and the 
first I knew I had got to Old Chester, and then I was 
almost as far from Westchester as I was when I left 
Philadelphia.' There was an artlessness — a simpli- 
city about the man, that awakened kind feelings to- 
wards him, and I am not sure that the Yankee tang 
upon his tongue, did not, like sounds familiar in child- 
hood, make something in his favour. He was evident- 
ly poor — yet there was nothing of solicitation in his 
looks — so far otherwise, besides the cock of his hat, 
there was that in his air which said as distinctly as 
an air could speak — 'I care not a fig for any body.* 
He had come to find the Village Record office, old 
Robert the scribe, or John Harwood. He cannot, 
surely, be an ordinary journeyman printer, thought I, 
for such an one would certainly have known, or at 
least inquired, where the Record was printed, and 
not have mistaken Chester for Westchester. 'And 
this is Mr. Miner, I suppose,' said he carelessly. 'It 
is my name sir,' said I, 'and who may it be that asks?' 
'You have heard of the Boston Bard I 'spose,' said he. 
'Certainly, often, and with pleasure.' This was our 
first personal knowledge of that eccentric child of ge- 
nius and misfortune. Where is he now? 



AWBSnDSSt 



Sk<* 



I number among my friends, in earlier life, the fol- 
lowing ladies and gentlemen: — 

Charles Miner, Esq., and family. Member of 
Congress from West Chester County, Pennsylvania. 
He employed me, as a printer, and occasional contri- 
butor to the poetical department of the " Village Re- 
cord;" he wrote a criticism on the volume of poems 
published in Philadelphia, in the year 1818; assisted 
me in sickness, and always proved himself a gentle- 
man, a good citizen, and last and best, a true follower 
and believer in Jesus Christ. 

Enos Bronson, Esq., and the members of the Phi- 
ladelphia "New England Society," of which I was 
unanimously chosen a member. This society, since 
broken up, gave me the sum of $25 as a means of 
partly defraying the expenses incurred by the typhus 
fever. From this disease I suffered severely; yet I 
afterwards pursued the same sinful course of life I had 
done before. Oh, God, thou art, indeed, a God of 
long suffering, and of unlimited mercy, or I should not, 
at this time, be known among the living. 

Mr. William B. Tappan, of Philadelphia, who has 
written much good poetry; and, also, Mr. W. Lemist, 
since deceased, a partner of Mr. T. in business, were 
of much service to me. 

G. W. Waite, and R. Waite, Jr. have been kind and 
most generous to me, when almost destitute of even 
food. 

Atkinson & Alexander, publishers of the "Satur- 
day Evening Post," Philadelphia. Also, Mr. G. Helm- 



22 

bold, since deceased, editor of the "Independent Bal- 
ance" He gave me a home, and supplied me with 
money — he was charitable to the last degree; — if he 
had errors, let the grave conceal them. Mrs. H. al- 
ways treated me with great kindness. Writing for 
the "Balance" led me to associate with men who 
openly urged me to intoxication, and almost every 
other vice without the pale of the law; and now it was 
that a disbelief in Christianity became my unhappi- 
ness. I drank — I sung — I endeavored to be merry; — 
nevertheless, at heart, I was sick! Fame and ap- 
plause did not calm the storm within; but God alone 
saw it. I never confessed my feelings to any one. I 
could write such lines as this — 

"Oh, take the maddening bowl away, &c." 

yet I persisted in the sin! Oh, how weak is man, un- 
supported by that religion, which may be called the 
arm of Jehovah ! 

John Burt, A. M., now resident of Somerset, N. 
J\, a minister of the gospel, was, and I suppose is still 
a true friend to me; gladly would he have turned my 
soul from the evil into which it had fallen; but, alas! 
he saw his efforts vain, and he left the hopeless task. 
Ah, he had a kind heart — would that I had early 
listened to his counsel, and been wise. 

Some friend of the " Friend's Society," in Phila- 
delphia, thus corrects the stanzas to my mother. I 
laughed at him when the piece appeared — he now has 
my thanks for the correction: 

From "Poulson's Daily Advertiser." — "I am sorry 
to have detected an impropriety — to give it no harder name — in 
the sweet little address of the 'Boston Bard' to his mother, 
which very much lessens its value in my estimation: that is, the 
substitution of Heathen Deities, for the one true God of Chris- 
tians. A FATHER." 

The members of the Society of Friends have uni- 

MFC 



23 

formly treated me with great humanity, in every sec- 
tion of country through which I have passed, and 
where they have had a residence; I love them much — 
they never injured me — the best of the bounties of 
Providence have been set before me — and they gave 
without grudging; never judging my sins half so se- 
verely as they deserved, if at all. I respect them, 
for they "respect themselves;" I honor them, for they 
are an honor to society. I select the following, as proof 
of the influence their kind and parental advice has had 
over me: It is from the " Honey Bee," a literary 
paper, printed, edited, and published by me, at Phi- 
ladelphia, in the year 1820. 

Advice. — Whether good advice will have a good effect or not, 
depends, in a great measure, on the manner in which it is given. 
Good advice, if rendered with an air of haughtiness and indiffer- 
ence, is seldom productive of any lasting profit; it is deemed an 
insult to our understanding, and if pardoned, is not regarded. I 
remember, when I resided in the country, about two years ago, of 
being in the woods amusing myself with shooting small birds, of 
various kinds; I had just seated myself on a log, my head reclin- 
ing on the breech of my gun, when two men, of the society of 
Friends came toward me, and introduced themselves to my acquaint- 
ance; when I first saw them, at a considerable distance, I imagin- 
ed their errand, and — I speak it with shame — determined not to 
be convinced that the mere killing a few little birds was an amuse- 
ment unbecoming a man and a christian. I prepared myself to 
meet stern and unforgiving countenances: I was, however, agree- 
ably disappointed; not one look seemed to say, * we are holier 
than thou;' on the contrary, every expression of their looks 
proclaimed, "we are mortal like thyself!" My resolution gave way; 
I listened attentively to their arguments; I could not deny the 
truth of their assertions; I was convinced, and we parted as friends 
and as brothers. — Now, if during our conversation, I had mark- 
ed but one look that indicated superiority over me, or one frown 
that seemed to imply contempt, I think it not improbable, but that 
I should have renewed my then amusement with greater ardour, 
and should, for that afternoon, at least, have heard in the sweet 
notes of the " songsters of the grove," the unwelcome voice of 
my advisers. Thank heaven! it was not thus. — This fact is men- 



24> 

tioned merely to shew how good advice should, from man to man, 
be given; and, also, how easy it is to defeat the intended good by 
an unforgiving look, or an improper expression. 

D. Hewitt, A. M., a professor of stenography, has 
proved, whenever we have met, a substantial friend — 
relieving my pecuniary wants, and often supplying me 
with clothing; for, alas! intemperance will bring the 
proudest genius to beggary and rags, while it renders 
its unhappy victim insensible to shame and loss of re- 
putation! Oh, miserable infatuation! Oh, detestable 
vice! how much of this world's misery may be placed 
to thy account! Look into the cells of our prisons — 
examine our houses of correction — take a view of our 
hospitals — ask why so many victims of crime, want 
and disease, have here taken a miserable abode, ma- 
ny for life — shut out from society, and debarred the 
common privileges of their fellow-men; nay, scarcely 
enjoying the blessed light of Heaven! Let me an- 
swer, for I have visited them, and beheld their misery 
— "RUM! RUM! RUM!" has almost invariably been 
the reply of the shaking hand — the racked limbs — the 
guiity cheek of the inmates of these receptacles of 
shame, anguish and despair! 

Behold yon wretched female form, 

An outcast from her home; 
Bleached in affliction's blighting storm 

And doomed in want to roam: 
Go — ask yon weeping orphan near, 

Why mother is so poor; 
He'll whisper in thy startled ear, 

'Twas Father's "One glass more!" 

I could recount, and name, fifty of my former asso- 
ciates, who, within eight years, have fallen from all 
that ennobles man, by an indulgence in inebriety; and 
are now slumbering in an untimely grave, forgotten 



25 

by all, except a parent, sister or brother, whose af- 
fections cannot be obliterated, even after the frail 
one's death. Yes, the above number, at least, of my 
youthful companions have died; many of them re- 
gardless, even in the hour of dissolution, of their future 
destination, and unrepentant of their sins! Dreadful 
thought! The soul recoils within itself with horror at 
the idea, and would gladly believe the reality but a 
fiction — the effect of weakness, and disorder of the im- 
agination-, — alas! the dull, cold marble proclaims the 
truth; and if this proof was wanting, the hoary head of 
the parent, bowed down by the sorrows of the heart, 
would be enough. The shame, remorse, and agony, 
suffered by the drunkard, at each return of reason, 
leads him to wish for annihilation, rather than a fu- 
ture existence; — he dreads the presence of a God, and 
rejects, as an idle tale, the love of that <2od for wretch- 
ed man, made manifest in the cruel sufferings and 
death of his Saviour, the Lamb whose "blood taketh 
away the sins of the world." Thus the intemperate 
man loses all happiness upon earth, and forfeits his in- 
heritance in the Heavens — and for what? For the 
momentary gratification of liquid stupefaction, or "hor- 
rid mirth," until he becomes a mass of moving putrid- 
ity, too abhorrent for humanity to endure, or com- 
miseration to approach. He dies: and where is the 
beast that pemsheth like him? Is the picture dark? — 
darker is the doom of the drunkard— darker the des- 
pair of the intemperate — when he awakes from his 
dream of madness, and sees the climax of his guilt in 
the denial of his God ! Do you tremble, ye who have 
advanced but a step in the indulgence of the bowl? — 
Pause not a moment in spurning it from your lips; 
dash it on the earth; reject it from your houses; be 
content to lose your dearest companions, and roam a 
lonely pilgrim through life, rather than subject your- 
selves for a moment longer to its fatal control! What 
3 



26 

is the loss of the dearest objects around you, to the loss 
of your souls; and the depravity of the heart is almost 
invariably a dreadful consequence of drunkeness. Oh, 
listen for an instant, to the words of one who had be- 
come its victim — and who now, at the hour of midnight, 
suffering severely from a Pulmonary Consumption, of- 
fers you a few pages of undeniable truths; read them — 
ponder upon them, and let me have the heart-felt sat- 
isfaction of knowing that, by the humiliating confession 
of my own sins, I have saved even but one wretched 
fellow-beir>g from destruction, and I shall esteem my 
present sufferings as nothing, in comparison to the 
good they, perhaps, may be the means of effecting 
towards my fellow-men. 

Why should the man who has dared to brave the 
wrath of his God, fear the momentary laughter, and idle 
jests of the wicked? It is not enough that my poems 
have been subservient to the cause of religion, patri- 
otism or morality; it does not satisfy me, that the 
world at large Las not stigmatized me with the name 
of Drunkard; it is no calm to my mind, that my 
companions in guilt have respected me, and lavished 
encomiums upon my works; — my soul tells me silent- 
ly how poorly I have deserved the praises bestowed 
upon me by the good — for God sees not as man sees; 
the heart is bare before him, at all times, and in all 
places — and if that be wicked, how shall the works of 
its possessor prosper, and be the cause of ^turning 
many to righteousness!" These pages vi\\\ be perused 
with utter astonishment by many who knew my pride, 
and unwillingness to confess an error of any kind; and 
the whole book may be denounced as an extortion from 
my weakness; but two years of suffering have not de- 
stroyed or much impaired my understanding — and it 
is a length of time since I first determined to make 
known my sin, that others might profit by my humili- 
ation. 



J7 

I early saw how utterly useless, nay, worthless and 
reroas, would be many of the menu of Byron, af- 
ter hii decease. I saw the H noou hardy 1 in the Inst 

hours <>J his lijr, deeply lamentmg the laeiviousncss ot<l 
blaepkemy with which many of his poems abound; — I 
beard his hitter reproach 'J] tor endea- 

voring to wrestle against Goio and religion, in the mnh, 
the wone than idle hope, of conquering hoik, and 
ing behind him a halo of unfadini . tnd i irreath 

of fame imperial ic highly gifted I 

nraa yet livings I wrote the following 
in the hope that they would meet bii 
anating in a distant clime, and in a land of which he 
teems to have boon particularly fond, he would !>• 
to reflect upon the course he irai and tune 

his harp to religion and morality. The poem, I hc- 

lieve, was republished in K and his lordship 

saw it in Italy; but what t had on hii mind, I 

do not know. It is prohahle \U t ant 

man; he had a noble and patriotic spirit, and si 
gling Greece will hallow bis memory. 

BYRON. 

"His soul is dark as Erel>> 

SATAN his harp to Byron gave, 
i said — M Go, sweep it well; 
Thy throne, the murderer's reeking grave, 
Thy theme, the feats of hell. 

The place of sculls thy home shall be. 

Thy bed the couch of shame; 
Plunge in pollution's putrid sea — 

There rest thy hope of fame. 

To misery's child new misery add — 

Tell him no pardon's given; 
Drive, drive the shuddering sinner mad. 

And break his hold on heaven. 



Sweep, sweep the lyre to godless themes — 

For vice a chaplet twine; 
Of horrors be thy waking dreams — 

Of horrors that are mine. 

Of agonies in hell that rise — 

Of darkness that is felt; 
Of reeling worlds — of sundering skies — 

Of terrors yet unspelt. 

Dark be the picture — let no lights 

Not one dim ray illume; 
Dark, dark as never-ending night — 

As self-destroyer's doom! 

Man's hope, man's peace forever mar. 

Eclipse religion's sun; 
Tread out salvation'sgoJden star, 

And see thy work well done!" 

He said: his lordship took the lyre, 

And swept the strings along; 
And Satan stole from heaven the fire,. 

To gild the godless song. 

During my residence with my good and long-suffer- 
ing friends, the family of Abraham J. Underhill, York- 
toivn, West Chester county, New York, whose kindness, 
without fee or reward, continued unabated until my de- 
parture for New England, I accidentally laid my hands 
upon a " History of Jacobinism" in France, written by the 
Abbe Barruel, who seems to have been master of 
his subject; in this work I found an account of the 
death of Voltaire — he who vaunted that "although 
it took twelve men to plant the tree of Christianity, 
one man alone (himself!) should be found sufficient to 
root it up" The horrid description of this wretched 
infidel's death, as given in the pages above cited, can- 
not fail to make the most hardened sinner, if he pe- 
ruses it with attention, shudder and tremble at 
thought of the punishment he might be sentenced to 
endure in a future existence beyond the confines of 



29 

the tomb! Voltaire's most intimate and courageous, 
or rather desperate companions, in the struggle to over- 
throw the cross of Christ, could not endure the sight 
of their dying master; — nor could the sentinels, sta- 
tioned outside his door, listen but for a time to his 
dreadful agonies, mixed with the bithrrst imprecations , 
blasphemy and yells of utter despair! Thus died a man, 
endowed with the brightest talents — the most fertile 
genius, and calculated in ail respects, perhaps, to have 
been the means, under Pi E, of saving his 

country from the DeTjf dilution into which he became, 
the most active instrument in plunging her! 

THK DEATH OF VOLTAIRE. 

*' The way of the transgressor is hard." 

Holy Writ 
Elate with hope, in health, in pride, 
Th< me; 

And Pans threw bef portals wide. 
And gmrfl her wreaths ol" Gu 

Fresh round his brows the flowerets fair 

Their iweetftsl Odoiiri -lied;t 
His triumph rilled the burthened air; 

The u wretch was as dead' 

One moment, and the sinner saw 
Religion prone in dust; 

Unscathed, defied the broken lev , 

Denied his God, and cur 

One moment, and the vital flood 

The tongue blasphemous hushed; 
Forth from his heart the startled blood 

A crimson deluge rushed)} 

• His friends, near the throne, obtained the Royal assent to his 
return: he was at this time in his B4ta }cm.—. rruei. 

f The Theatres decreed their crowns, and entertainments rapidly 
succeeded each other, in honour of the impious chief. — ib. 

In the midst of his triumphs, a violent hemmorrhage raised 

*8 



30 

The pangs of death; and horrors dread. 

His frame, his soul possess; 
The spirits of his victims dread 

Before his vision press; 

And on the wall,* in words of light, 

In letters traced in flame, 
He sees, and sinks in endless night! 

" Escrasez LHnfame!"^ 

How deeply to be regretted the error of Paine! — 
Error? Sin, I should have said! He, who next to 
our virtuous and lamented Washington, effected the 
most toward the emancipation of America, by his pen, 
which he knew so well how to wield in defence of an 
injured people, struggling for independence, and ap- 
pealing to Heaven for the justice of their cause! Be- 
hold this powerful writer at his desk, illuminating each 
page, and elucidating or connecting the opinions of 
profound statesmen, by the magical touch of a pen 
seemingly "dipped in mind;" — he breathes of freedom 
— of national thraldom — of wrongs and aggressions too 
frequent and multiplied to be longer borne — and, !o! 
even the stripling listens — understands — and, desert- 
ing the half-felled oak in the forest, leaves the axe at 
its roots, and seizing the tube of der.th, he stands un- 
daunted in the "fore-front" of the hottest strife! — 

apprehensions for his life; these apprehensions were realized on 
the 30th of May, 7 778. — ib. 

* The hand which had traced in writ the sentence of an impious 
revelling king, seemed to trace before his eyes, « Crush him, do 
crush the wretch!' — ib. 

t " Ecr: L'Inf." — an obscure abbreviation of Escrasez L'ln- 
fame, (i. e. crush the wretch, meaning Christ,) generally conclu- 
ded all Voltaire's letters to his friends on subjects of " Philoso- 
phism." In his last moments, he could be heard alternatively 
supplicating or blaspheming that God he had conspired against: so 
dreadful were his agonies, that the Mareschal de Richelieu flew 
from the bedside, declaring it to be a sight too terrible to be sus- 
tained, — ib. * 



31 

Alas! reverse the picture; behold this same writer — 
this patriot, and friend to the "rights of man," labor- 
ing to destroy the soul of the body he has just saved 
from the yoke of slavery, by inculcating a disbelief in 
the martyred Saviour of the world! Oh, God, have 
mercy upon him at the last day, and obliterate his sin; 
it is the prayer of a nation, on whom thou hast looked 
with kindness, and blessed beyond all others, with 
freedom, peace, and a knowledge of thyself. For a 
moment let us consider if there might not be found a 
secret cause, which kept the sinner unrepentant, and 
daily hardened his heart, and blinded his soul to a 
sense of the sin he persisted in; yes, there was — and 
I will answer, although the victim reposes in death. 
Paine was a lover of "strong drink;" and this alone is 
an answer why he continued to deny the Divinity of 
Christ — for the moment reason was about to return, 
which would have brought with it the bitterness of 
remorse, he took still larger quantities of rosy death, 
to kill the worm within. He died "as a fool dieth," 
and a vagabond has made use of his bones for his pur- 
poses! Had Paine lived a sober man, he would (if he 
did not) have died a christian! 

Hence — hence; away, thou deadly foe! 

I spurn thy base control: 
Hence — hence; away — I feel thy blow, 

Thou palsy of the soul! 
Henceforth I'll stoop no more to thee, 

Destroyer of our race; 
But to a Heavenly /otmtain flee, 

And drink the dews of grace. 



While settling my accounts with the world, I wish here to die- 
charge a debt of gratitude, and publicly acknowledge a favor in 
which myself and family are deeply interested: — 

Captain Sleeper, of the ship Hogarth, generously 
erected a stone in the burial ground of the Helder, 
(Holland) to the memory of my brother; and himself. 



32 

officers and crew, attended his remains to the grave. 
The blessings of the widow and orphan are his earthly 
reward, and Heaven, hereafter, will be mindful of the 
deed. 

To the Commander, Officers, and late crew of the ship 
Hogarth, of Boston. 

Captain Sleeper will confer a lasting favour upon 
myself, and the remaining part of my father's family, 
by accepting himself, and tendering to his officers and 
late crew, on board the Hogarth, our warmest thanks 
for the truly disinterested attentions shown by them, 
in depositing the remains of my beloved brother in the 
burial ground of the Helder, who was killed by light- 
ning, off the Texel, on the 7th July, 1826. My broth- 
er, sir, on entering the ship at Boston, must have been 
a stranger to every man and officer on board; conse- 
quently his merits alone could have advanced him so 
rapidly in the esteem of both — this fact is certainly 
of much moment and consolation to his surviving rela- 
tives, and acquaintances. — Whatever ship, sir, you 
may hereafter command, will have the prayers of the 
widow and the orphan for her safety, and the welfare 
of yourself, and those whom you may command; and, 
rest assured, dear sir, that a breeze of heartfelt grat- 
itude, has saved many a fine and gallant bark from 
the dangers of a lee shore, or an inhospitable coast: — 

And he who lends a ready hand 

To save a sinking brother, 
An arm unseen, his soul shall draw 

From this world up to t'other. 

Suffering myself from a painful and fatal disease, I 
beg you, once more, to accept this brief tribute of 
respect and gratitude, and tender the same to your 
amiable wife and family. 

Yours, truly, 

ROBERT S. COFFIN 

JVewburyport, Mass. 
Nov. 6, 1826. 



33 

INSCRIPTION OH THE GRAVE STONE. 

Here lies the body of 

CAZNEAU B. COFFIN, 

Who was killed by lightning, on board the American ship 

BOO \KI H. ■ \, 

Off the Texel, July 1th, 1826, 

Aged 25 Years. 

This stone is erected by the Officers and Crew of the 

ship, as a tribute to ii- orth, and 

a memorial of their esteem. 

N. B. The <\|» funeral were heavy, but 

were willingly defrayed, both by the officers and men. 



POEIVIS 

WRITTEN SINCE I HI f\ IMK \TI0N OF THE 

•rfratal l^arp. 



Killed, on board the ship Htgartk, off th« TrxeL hy light- 
ning, Mr. Caznkai B < 5>1 y I n, brother of the Boston Bard 

Aye, higher iweU, destructive sea, 
The dark, insatiate wave; 

The spirit, in its D 

Hears not thy billows rave; 
The thunder's voice, the lightning's flame, 

The spirit laugh** to scorn; 
What time was scathed the mortal frame, 

Was life's eternal morn. 

Not for thy fate, my brother brave. 

Will I a tear-drop shed; 
The love I bore thee hath no grave — 

It dies not with the dead; 
Adieu! — The Texel's stormy tide 

Thy requiem wild shall be; 
Such dirge alone best suits the pride 

Of Brethren of the Sea. 



34 

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 

I know not why the heart should bleed, 

Or why the soul despair, 
When, from this vale of sorrows freed, 
The spirit walks the paths that lead 

To all that's good and fair. 
I know not why maternal tears 

For innocence should flow, 
When, casting off its robe of fears, 
It wings its way to brighter spheres, 

And leaves its house of wo. 
Oh, could we pause and cast around 

A meek, attentive eye, 
Might not great cause of joy be found, 
Whene'er we tread the little mound 

Where guiltless relics lie 1 ? 

Yes: then instead of rending sighs 
That heave the tortured breast, 
To Him who walks the vaulted skies 
Our fervent prayers would daily rise, 
To take us to his rest. 

It is not sin to mourn the doom 

Of virtue's early flower; 
But, Oh, to sink in cheerless gloom 
Oft leaves the heart sufficient room 

To doubt Almighty power: 

And this is sin. We should not weep 

As those of hope denied; 
We know a voice shall wake the sleep 
Of that we lay beneath this heap, 

And to his care confide. 
What in His likeness he has made, 

By Him will guarded be; 



35 

And whether in the waters laid, 
Or 'neath the willow's mournful shade, 
Shall ne'er corruption see. 



LOVE OF LIFE. 

Man quits not such a world as this, 
Nor deems his journey brief; 

For still there blooms a flower of bliss 
With every thorn of grief. 

How glorious from the azure deep 

Ascends yon orb on high! 
Why should we its departure weep? 

We do not wish to die! 

The storm is still; an arch appears 
'Neath heaven's unsullied veil; 

Mercy has smiled away our fears — 
Yet, DEATH! who bids thee hail* 

Even I, O world! who sadly sigh, 

By pain and penury prest, 
Shall leave thee with a moisten'd eye, 

And with a heaving breast. 



STANZAS 

On a pet sheep, worried to death hy a ferocious dog. 

'Tis thus with man: though innocent 

As was this victim's life, 
By malice foul his heart is rent, 

And knawed by dogs of strife. 

Like this meek sufferer, oft the breast 

Of innocence is pained; 
And virtue often sinks distressed, 

With its own life-blood stained, 



36 

Man loves not man: his rage is fate: — 
His vengeance feeds the grave; 

His fellow falls to glut his hate — »■ 
His soul is passion's slave. 

Not so with thee: thy spirit meek 

Nor hate nor anger knew; 
Passion ne'er roused thy spirit weak, 

Thy fellows to subdue, 

Refreshed from woman's liberal hand, 
And screened from winter's blast, 

E'er sportive with the urchin band; 
'Twas joy too pure to last. 

Emblem of love and gentleness! 

With each returning spring 
Thy fancied grave with flowers we'll dress, 

And thy sad story sing. 

IMPROMPTU 
On hearing the Rev. Mr. Summerfield. 

May he who touched Isaiah's lips with fire, 
Continue still thy spirit to inspire; 
Pour from thy lips the accents mild of truth, 
The aged waken — guide the feet of youth; 
Breathe o'er the fainting heart, and bid it beat, 
And pour its sorrows all at Jesus' feet; 
Stretch forth thy hand , and bid the weary come ; 
In Mercy's mansion there is always room; 
Proclaim to those with heavy woes oppressed, 
In Christ confide, and he will give you rest 
Fear not the vile, but on undaunted march, 
Thine eye forever fixed on Heaven's high arch; 
Thus thou and thine shall reach that goal sublime, 
Where faith shall triumph over death and time. 



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